


once my flame, twice my burn

by asswords



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Ian is in the army and Mickey decides to call him after weeks of Mandy's pestering, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asswords/pseuds/asswords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "ian's first day/week in the army or mickey's first day/week without him?"</p>
<p>He thinks about ROTC training, the way a gun can be taken apart, the different types. He thinks about precautions and warnings to detecting a bomb, and he kind of wonders, for the briefest second, why he didn’t see Mickey as a bomb to his heart before it happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	once my flame, twice my burn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for anon on tumblr, decided to post it on here :) It's un-beta'd and sloppy. And I'm out of practice when it comes to Ian and Mickey and I haven't read them in a while, so I hope it's not too out of character.
> 
> But I wrote it in Ian's POV at first and then switched to Mickey and then fast-forwarded to weeks later. It wasn't meant to be that organized and I'm sure I could've extended it even more but eh.

Ian can feel the smile fade from his face when the bus begins to move. It bumps and his shoulders sway back and forth. He looks around him pensively, notices the way that other boys and young men don’t necessarily look too far off compared to him. Some look like they just got out of rehab and want to put their lives back together, that same determined, focused and clear conscious Ian thinks he used to possess.

He wants to say that he’s been planning to leave for the army all along, that he was just _that_ determined. But he can’t. He doesn’t dole on the topic, doesn’t think about how Liam is gonna grow up clueless to the chaos around him. Doesn’t think about how Carl might end up waving that knife around in middle school and getting countless detentions. He doesn’t worry about how Fiona might go insane when she learns of his disappearance – either that or she doesn’t notice at all.

If he thinks about it for too long, then Ian starts to think about _everyone_ he’s leaving behind, and he doesn’t care because his family seems to get on alright without him. It’s not something he’s bitter about. Ian’s always been good at keeping to himself, and this is no different, not really. He’s just doing something on his own, for himself.

It’s good to be away from Mickey. It burns a bit, the way he stilled when Mickey opened his mouth but couldn’t get the words out. It’s not surprising to him, not at all, because Ian is just _tired_. He’s tired of waiting around for words he’ll never hear, tired of clinging onto something so dangerous and exhausting. Mickey ended this. Not him. He _gave_ him that choice, and he thought Mickey chose him because his lips were rough and pleading on Ian’s in that basement. Something like a promise that they both seemed to misunderstand.

It hurts anyways. It hurts when Ian thinks about the careless laughter in the alleyway, where everything felt like it couldn’t touch them, not then, not in that blithe moment. How was anything going to ruin them when they were running _together_?

It’s not like now where Ian’s alone but it’s ironic. He’s getting his _dream_ right now, but the bus is too shaky, the seats are too hard and the company too bitter.

He breathes in slowly, somehow imagining Mickey calling him a pussy for thinking so much, and his gaze hardens, staring out the window again, that dead look rising once again. He thinks about ROTC training, the way a gun can be taken apart, the different types. He thinks about precautions and warnings to detecting a bomb, and he kind of wonders, for the briefest second, why he didn’t see Mickey as a bomb to his heart before it happened.

_~~o~~_

Mickey stares at his door in awe, and he tries to feel mad at Gallagher for telling his fucking sister, but the only sense he can match with the red-head is that he’s gone and he isn’t coming back.

Mickey can’t fucking blame him for that. Shit, he’s surprised he could keep him this long. But Ian’s being fucking selfish at the same time, because no one can say he hasn’t been trying. And why would Ian leave something up like whether he’s going to the army or not. He’s not in charge of what the hell Gallagher decides to do, that’s just fucking unfair.

But Mandy doesn’t call anyone a pussy and not mean it, and then she stormed off, mad at him, like he told Ian to go instead of _trying_ , which he fucking did. She can kiss his ass for all he cares.

Some weeks pass and he doesn’t talk so much anymore. He just seems to radiate cruelness and rage. He no longer worries about his safety but he doesn’t really feel secure by it anymore either. Svetlana isn’t exactly a cover when there’s no one to cover with. So she starts living with him, his once-young, now manly and impersonal room because he took down more things in frustration. No one in his family said anything or just didn’t care when they heard the sound of breaking glass in his room.

His sister comes to him in his room, knocking first, not sure if Svetlana was there that night or not.

“You know, I’m pretty sure the army bases have phones. I doubt he’s in combat already, right?” Mandy’s trying to play it cool, pretend she didn’t look this shit up, or that she didn’t ask Lip. He’s not really sure what’s going on in that front, too fucking busy with his own woes. He really is a goddamn drama queen.

But from what it seems like, Lip and Mandy are slow going now, but they’re not done. He’s gonna go to MIT and they got a lot of talking to do, but Mickey wouldn’t mind his sister getting what she deserves and going with him. Hell, even if that shit doesn’t work out, she’d still be in far away from this shit hole.

But he laughs harshly, his insides clouding and getting nauseous. He doesn’t like to think about this shit, as if he hasn’t already. Ian fucking army dudes is probably his other form of gay heaven and then Ian getting shot in the middle of some heroic escapade. _All_ of it sucks.

So he laughs at Mandy, makes fun of her for even mentioning this shit to him and she just leaves his room, slamming the door, all pissed off, probably on her fucking period.

But then this type of night comes, and he doesn’t know how describe it but it’s just pure cold. There’s no snow, no form of rain or anything, it’s just dry fucking air and Mickey’s walking home from another mini mart he found a job at, and it chills him to the bone.

So he blames the weather when he goes to some payphone on the corner, his hand pushes into the pockets of his layered jacket, searching for the slip of paper with the sloppy numbers on it. He reaches for his pack of cigarettes while he’s at it, lighting it up quickly, hands shaking from the icy breeze.

He can barely read Mandy’s girly scrawl, but he throws a couple quarters in, punches the numbers in with a little too much force but he doesn’t really care because he’s still tired of denying that this is all his fault, tired of making Ian go, but proud that he could let go. Because everyone knows that Gallagher deserved better than Mickey Milkovich.

But the line’s ringing and Mickey considers backing out, but then he hears the background voice of Mandy calling him a pussy again and grips the plastic phone even harder at the thought. It picks up, voice answering and asking who it is and Mickey feels a need to clear his throat but doesn’t and asks for Ian Gallagher. Feels dumb about it.

“We’ve only got a Philip Gallagher, is that who you mean?”

He almost laughs, didn’t think that the red-head was that much of a con-man. It’s amazing that he’s the one that’s been to juvie. Instead he just says yes to the operator woman, who says she can put him through.

He breathes in relief; he doesn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe already expecting to feel like some fucking army wife, waiting around for him to come back. It’s pretty much role reversal, he knows that.

It’s a long wait, so Mickey pockets for more quarters, pushing them in.

“Hello?”

And then that’s Ian’s voice, coming through, loud and clear, no static or anything. Ian’s probably still in the States, going through more training, falling for other dudes, maybe fucking geriatric sergeants these days.

“Gallagher,” And he somehow goes into this quick panic that he’s gonna get hung up on, but he can feel the shocked breathing somehow. “I just –“

“What are you doing, Mickey?”

He can picture it too; the hard lines set in stone in Ian’s face, lines he probably put there, frustration built over years of learning not to expect anything. He can see Ian doing that bitter smirk, building his walls higher, not wanting Mickey to fuck him up again.

“What, calling’s illegal now? Thought _Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell_ was revoked,” He’s pretty good at making a joke of this shit, of this feeling in his chest. It’s cold and dry and he exhales through his nose. It all makes it even harder to breathe. This serious shit bothers him and it was dumb to call and show Ian that he didn’t change at all, but the deal is this, he _misses_ Ian.

He doesn’t say as much, but there’s this silence over the phone line, miles of silence and then Ian speaks up.

“Is that it?” He sounds tired rather than angry now, like this is the point in his life where he realizes he’s never gonna be able to run from Mickey and vice versa. It’s shitty, really.

“Just…,” and then Mickey’s back to where he started, stuttering over his words, thinking it was dumb to call in the first place. Ian’s already there, there’s no turning back now anyways. “Just stay safe.”

That’s still pretty big for him, more words than he got out last time.

Ian snorts softly, nods his head once and then says, “Yeah, okay, I will.” There’s this fleeting pause, like he wants Mickey to try again, but he decides against it, and sighs dejectedly, “Bye Mickey.”

“Bye,” He finishes, but Ian hung up and Mickey still has time left on the phone, puts it back on the trigger. His cigarette is burning on its own, and he thinks he should be upset but he’s okay. He’s okay with the fact that Ian still gives him chances and he still doesn’t take them.

He’s okay with this for now because he knows he’ll call again someday.


End file.
